The Lost Boys
by JossyRose
Summary: (Short stories based around the Wammy Boys and multiple ideas as to how they got there as well as interactions and first meetings. Includes how I percieve A, from Another Note.) These children were all smart, but a group of boys stood out from the rest. Their names were Lawliet, Beyond Birthday, Anthony, Nate, Miheal, and Mail. They were the genuises, the sociopaths, the psychos.


**Theory #1  
>Near<br>Parents Killed One Another**

Mummy and Daddy were fighting again. A very small, white haired child dressed in clothes that had once belonged to his older brother sat, huddled against himself, cowering. His hands were firmly clamped over his ears but it did little to no good. The sound seeped through. The boy flinched when he heard skin-on-skin contact, but he was not sure if his mother had slapped his father or the other way around. It wasn't necessarily an unusual occurrence in the River household but it wasn't an everyday thing either. Not that it mattered how often this happened, it was certainly taking an emotional toll on the poor little four year old.

Tears sprung to his eyes as he heard his Daddy furiously shouting a string of profane, tasteless curses at the woman before grabbing her neck and pushing her against the wall, forgetting for the moment, that his son was not five feet away from the ordeal. The little boy gasped and then quickly squeezed his eyes closed, desperately wishing that there was something he could do, but knowing that there was not. It was a horrible pain, this knowledge, this feeling of absolute helplessness. Most children were comforted with the helplessness, the knowledge that safety and security would be provided to them free of charge, but Near and at one point, his brother, always had to think fast and be quick on their feet to save themselves from the wrath of both of their parents, locking themselves in their rooms, or sometimes both in the same room, and trying to drown out the violence.

"I will always protect you, little brother. I promise," his brother used to say in a gentle, soothing voice.

Where was his brother now? He had left the minute he turned eighteen years old with the empty promise of returning to rescue the child. But that promise was broken the moment he was arrested for domestic violence against his girlfriend. Like father like son.

The young child just wanted to be numb of it all. Take his emotions! Take his thoughts! Take his LIFE! He just wanted the pain to stop. A dying shriek and a dying shout as his mother wrapped her hands around the lamp on a side table, bashing it over his father's head. Blood streamed down the side of his face while he pressed his thumbs into her soft neck, cutting off the oxygen flow completely. Both adults crashed to the floor while the horrified boy watched in terror.

"Mummy? M-Mum. Wake up!" the child crawled over to her lifeless form, "Daddy, what's wrong with Mummy?!"

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he received no answer from either parent. He forced himself to his feet and ran to the landline, pressing his fingers against the 9-1-1 buttons. A kind, feminine voice answered, "Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?"

"Mummy and Daddy won' wake up! I'm scared! They aren' moving!" the British boy shrieked into the phone.

The woman on the other end shushed him soothingly, not understanding much from the frantic screeches of the young child, and asked for his address so she could send an ambulance and police squad. The boy sniffled as he answered, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his brother's white button up. Moments later, sirens could be heard and a loud bang on the front door startled the already traumatized boy.

"Poor kid. His parents murdered each other right in front of his eyes."

"Must've taken a toll on the poor boy. That's gotta be traumatizing."

"I just hope he's young enough that he won't remember any of this. How old is he? Four? Geez, how can people do this to their children?"

The little boy spent many years going from orphanages to foster parents back to orphanages, until one day, he was taken to a new place, called Wammy's. Apparently it was because he was highly intellectual for his age, or so he was told anyway. Once he arrived there, he met a strange boy who reminded him a bit of a raccoon because of the circles under his gray eyes.

"Hello…" the teen drawled, "I am Lawliet. What's your name?"

The eight year old looked up at Lawliet with expressionless eyes. No child so young should have to be so guarded, so emotionless, so vacant. His clothes were pure white and definitely did not fit him. They must have belonged to a sibling or perhaps his father, Lawliet deducted. The smaller child twirled a lock of his snow white hair while he spoke. A sociopath in the making.

"My name is Nate."


End file.
